


Abyss

by huynhd771



Category: Sonic the Hedgehog - All Media Types
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Beating, Blood, Blood and Gore, Cheating, Clubbing, Gore, Horror, Murder, Psychological Horror, Psychological Torture, Psychological Trauma, Sex, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 18:27:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/huynhd771/pseuds/huynhd771
Summary: Infinite





	1. Part One and ii

**Abyss â€“ H.N. Huynh**

* * *

_**Part One and ii** _

* * *

.

.

.

...

..

.

..

.

..

..

_Thud_

.

[here again]

* * *

_can't find you anymore_

_i don't see you anymore_

_the bond is broken_

_infinity swallows you in an abyss of lies, cheats, fake love, fake sorrow, and desperation_

_i can't help you anymore_

_i'm not sorry_

_welcome_

_and goodbye_

* * *

_Sonic is dead._

_Sonic is dead._

_SonicisdeadSonicisdeadSonicisdeadSonicisdeadSonicisdeadSonicisdeadSonicisdead_

They keep repeating that phrase.

You get it. Sonic is dead.

 _Shut the fuck up_ , you say. There is no reply. It's almost as if they can't hear you.

There is a note beside the limp, bloodied figure that is Sonic.

You see it is soaked in irregular splotches of blood.

It says:

"I don't want you anymore."

Beside the note is a shotgun. Beside the shotgun is a hammer. It looks like a toy and it looks familiar. It is covered with blood.

You can't help but look at it.

The handwriting is too neat to be his; Sonic was never an educated one. Running, for the hills, being a full-time nuisance and a part-time saviour.

The room is saturated with the stench of alcohol and you figure he's been drinking. The floor gleams with brown and green glass shards.

Sonic was drinking a lot lately. You never knew why. You thought it was some sort of habit picked up from his friends.

Maybe he drank himself to death? No.

You figure it was a murder or at least a homicide.

It couldn't be a suicide. There are too many bullets in his body; he's filled with lead.

Then you notice:

His body is broken.

Blood spills from his body in copious amounts and the floor is dyed with red. Limbs bent in positions limbs aren't supposed to be bent in. Gaping gashes visible in patched and tattered pelt.

His face is ripped off. Exposed skull and face organs sticking out like a sore thumb, the bloody periosteum a discoloured hue of brown and black. He has one eye, no nose, and half a mouth. Ears are torn. Bloodied viscera trickling down the side of his head in a red-pink pulp. 2 of his quills are snapped off, the other two dislocated. Red discolours his blue pelt.

Right eye, fixated upon something. At first you assume it is the wall â€“ a tattered stack of bricks with much of its paint ripped off and washed with more blood. But they turn his head, the police, but the head turns back. Gazing at the wall, nothing of significance.

What is he looking at?

You move closer to inspect his injuries. They interest you. He's interesting. There's an attraction.

You don't know what it is but there is nothing. Nothing means nothing to lose. So you let your instincts loose.

You're right against his face right now. Heavy on his breath are the odours of tequila and vodka. His face ultimately sickens you, the more you look at him. You don't know why.

Like this amalgamation of disgust and lies.

Reach out to touch him, ultimately amounts to phrasing through him.

But his eyes follow you. Pays attention to each and every twitch of the nerves with that ominous, black stare that suggests whatever he's looking at, isn't in this room.

He's looking at you. Your eyes widen and you back away.

* * *

_the first time the baseball bat connects with the side of your head knocks out two teeth_

_the second blow knocks him onto your side and cracks your neck_

_the third one bloodies your face_

_the fourth one bloodies your face even further_

_the fifth one bloodies your face even further_

_the sixth one breaks the nasal bones into the brain cavity_

_the seventh one crushes an eye socket and sends bloody viscera running out of your face like a fried egg_

_the eighth one does nothing_

_the ninth one does nothing_

_the tenth one does nothing_

_the eleventh one does nothing_

_the twelfth one does nothing_

_the thirteen one does nothing_

_the fourteenth one does nothing_

_the fifteenth one cracks through the spinal cord_

_the sixteenth one does nothing_

_the seventeenth one does nothing_

_the eighteenth one does nothing_

_the nineteenth one does nothing_

_the twentieth one does nothing_

_the twenty-first one finally exhausts the black and red hedgehog_

_he stops for a moment to catch his breath_

_his breath never comes back_

_he drops the bat and it hits the floor, bounces, hits the floor again_

_it's covered in blood_

_everything is covered in blood_

_inhale_

_exhale_

_iron on his tongue_

_blood all over his apartment_

_his lifeless expression expresses that he is satisfied_

_he has delivered justice_

_he begins cleaning up his apartment_

* * *

You turn your eyes to them now. Coppers and detectives. Give them a warrant, a gun, and a certificate and they think they know everything.

They're extracting the lead now. Placing them in those gross sterile plastic bags that reek of cornstarch and polymer.

There's 18 of them, which means there are 18 holes.

One in each knee cap, one in each foot. His torso is littered with eight punctures. Six embedded in his face.

They're gathering everything now. Glass shards, shotgun, note, even the toy hammer.

You wish they'd leave everything in place.

 _Stop,_ you say.

_Stop. Stop._

_Stop. STOP._

_STOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP_

But they don't stop. Because they can't hear you.

You figure they must be deaf or something. Look at them, patronising know-it-alls with fake concern written all over their faces. Complements their fake intelligence.

They're only doing this for money. If they'd truly cared, they'd leave Sonic's shit where it is.

They glow with a strange sentiment that urges you to protect them.

But you can't. They don't see you.

They're dragging his body now. Into some white van.

Blood tracks onto the van, clotting on the cold, clean metal.

The room is empty. There is nothing.

The cracks on the walls. The blood on the floor. It is a small room.

But it feels so infinite.

You walk to one of the walls. The one least deformed.

But you can never touch the wall.

As you keep walking, the walls keep escaping.

You start to run.

Running. You're not that fast but you keep running.

The walls don't relent.

You're out of breath now. You've been running for many hours now.

Collapse.

You look behind. The walls are still there, in their same positions.

You?

You haven't moved an inch.

* * *

_i wish i hadn't known about it_

_i wish you weren't with me at all_

_i don't want your love i don't want your lies. i wish i could relinquish mine for yours_

_but i can't i just can't_

_i don't know anymore_

_i. just. don't. know._

_i don't want you to ask me for forgiveness because I won't forgive you_

_do you think my love for you blinds me?_

_it doesn't_

_but i'm not angry_

_i was but now i am not_

_it's the truth and it's not my fault for telling the truth_

_the truth will let you make your own decisions_

_because i don't know you anymore_

_because i don't want to break you_

_i want you to break yourself_

_or make yourself_

_it will only benefit me or leave me unharmed_

_because i'm not a part of this war anymore_

_you're only doing this to yourself_

_i just want you to let go_


	2. Part Two and i

**Abyss â€“ H.N. Huynh**

* * *

_**Part Two and i** _

* * *

_you're in here_

_in our apartment_

_with a hammer_

_and a gun_

_this is bad_

_this is really bad_

_don't do this_

_please don't do this_

_a blunt pain kisses the back of my head_

_blood from my scalp showers my head in waves_

_don't do this_

_don't do this_

_i can see my face organs splattering out in a gooey sludge across the floor_

_i can see your face traits sharpen in fits of anger and rage_

_you say i've wasted your time_

_20\. 10 years of a fruitless chase and infatuation. 10 years of a fruitless marriage._

_that's probably true_

_you say my death is karma of not being able to please her_

_so that's what this is about_

_me not being able to fuck you enough times_

_it's so arduous, to be able to satiate you_

_i'm so tired_

_please spare me the misery_

_please just shoot me already_

_click click_

_bang bang_

* * *

The room is dimmed with a pale, yellow lamp that grossly exaggerates the corpse's yellow hues.

His ribcage is forcibly ripped into its two halves. All 24 of them, cracked and bent, exposing the marrow. 13 ribs puncture the hedgehog's lungs, the bone structure scraping the trachea. Aggressively pull out the viscera and it falls apart in their hands in a rotting, pink slop. His insides, flooding with blood from massive uncontrollable haemorrhages. Purple bruises, their sizes comparable to tumours. Drips over the side of the examination table. The head is only hanging from a few strands of flesh once part of its neckless foundation. Countless deaths smear the room in the stench of years of coagulated metallic blood. Fatally intoxicating.

It hits you like a hard punch and you flinch, scrunching your eyes and covering your nose.

You wish they wouldn't conduct the autopsy here. You wish they would just bury the body.

You wish they would do this in another place.

You wish you didn't have to watch.

You wish you they didn't do this at all.

 _Leave him alone,_ you say.

There is no response because they can't hear you.

Because of them, you can't leave.

You don't know what it is but something's preventing you from returning.

From escaping.

From being free. Being free of being attached to Sonic.

Your bind to Sonic cannot be broken unlessâ€¦

He would be let to rest in peace.

But you can't do anything because the world refuses to notice you.

Perhaps this is your fault.

Perhaps this is some otherworldly karma or something. You've never believed in that shit. You've never believed in the afterlife, heaven, hell, demons, monsters, spirits. You've dismissed religion, Christ, Mohammed, Buddha, as superstitious shit the insecure use to justify their misdeeds and questionable set of morals.

But there's something.

It's like there is a wall, something, anything, that's separating you from them. But you feel yourself alive. You feel the warmth of life pumping through you, your shaking breath that returns the bloody air with stale fear, you feel your tears that soak your red blouse.

You don't doubt your own existence. But you doubt where you are.

No, no, no!

That's stupid. That's stupid on so many levels!

Because you're here, watching them treat the autopsy of the world's saviour like a fucking school frog dissection, watching their dispensable lab coats being soaked with his invaluable blood.

You don't want to watch so you leave but you can't leave so you watch.

But tears smear your vision anyway. You close your eyes.

You're so tired.

You need a break.

Please, take a break. It will distract you

* * *

_suddenly i am angry_

_i am pissed off_

_i'm angry at him, the guy you're fucking,_

_i'm angry at myself for not being able to satisfy you_

_i'm angry at the world for letting me fall in love with such an unloveable cunt_

_and i'm angry at you_

_for taking advantage of my misery_

_for making me fall in love with you_

_for breaking promise after promise after promise_

_and i hate the fact you thrive on hormones and testosterone_

_i don't know what to expect_

_you start screaming and cussing and throwing your empty wine and whiskey bottles at me_

_PISS OFF_

_PISS THE FUCK OFF_

_and so i leave_

_i leave and i don't look back_

_a glass shard stabs me through the leg_

_i don't retaliate_

_i don't love you_

_if i loved you i would've fought back_

_i suppose you're right_

_i can't support both our lives_

_goodbye_

* * *

Your mind keeps regurgitating these words. Your mind keeps telling you this shit.

These voices in your head.

They're trying to help. They're trying to free you. Can't you see?

I guess not. You've always been one for a literal approach. You've never wanted to tie yourself to beliefs that so complex and rooted you can't even understand their purposes.

Then you open your eyes.

Silence.

They have finished.

Stuff, _shove_ , the organs, _the pink not-quite-solid sludge_ , back into the body, _the corpse_ , _the half-corpse_ , _a heap of beaten flesh and bone_.

It's horrible how they're treating his body. But no one really cares, because Sonic is dead, and the dead doesn't benefit anyone.

Dead weight. Useless. Stone.

They don't even bother to tidy and clean his body. Look, see? They're unclothing already from their gross surgical apparatus, putting away the cloths, the scalpels, the computers. They're muttering future plans of beer and strippers, porn and getting laid, that's more of a priority to them than the dead body of the world's greatest saviour.

You take a closer look at Sonic. What is left of him.

Hollowed out eyes that consume your gaze in an infinite void, his right eye dissolved into a gelatinous whitish-pink pulp. The torso is loosely wrapped in a poor gauze and the legs in a strange position, the result of a half-hearted attempt to straighten them.

No. Now you have to move away. Make way for them to dispose of the body.

Earth's been prone to overpopulation these days. There's no more room for these graveyards, these cemeteries, places for the dead.

So much life on Earth that each soul is expendable, so much life that life has lost its value.

So much life that no one cares for the dead; there will always be another to replace the lost.

They're taking the body somewhere.

You follow. You seek.

Poorly illuminated hallways that form a maze with infinite turns and dead ends that become blurred together, ultimately forming a linear path, designed in a way to throw a blanket over their client's eyes to hide what a shithole this place is.

And it doesn't stop.

A locker's combinations of twists and turns.

* * *

_hands find the soft silk lingerie_

_plays with it_

_clenches it_

_rips it off_

_he starts fondling you in places non-lovers don't generally fondle one another_

_jumbled thoughts burn up_

_with the heat of your passion and his lust_

_all thoughts burn to ash_

_only until one remains_

" _I onlyâ€¦ wantâ€¦"_

"â€¦ _youâ€¦"_

_fingers jammed inside you_

" _I knowâ€¦"_

_he starts thrusting maniacally_

_sweatdrops douse both your faces_

_in and out_

_in and out_

_kissing and fucking_

_in and out_

_in and out_

_he closes your eyes with his caress_

_untilâ€¦_

_as your lips and tongues part for a breather_

_you turn behind_

_and see me_

* * *

_Thud._

The blunt impact of the body landing among other bodies shakes you.

Left to decay.

Left to rot.

Left to be forgotten.

You fall as well because you cannot leave him.

But there is no thud.

Instead you phase through the mass of dead bodies, half-decayed and completely skeletal, and you keep falling.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

...

.

* * *

[the hole you've dug out yourself]

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

* * *

Infinite becomes a number and only a mere fraction of what length you're falling.

* * *

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

.

.

.

.

.

..

.

.

* * *

Then you start screaming. You're screaming into a void that doesn't return your screams, so all your output is consumed and you waste your energy and a desperate laughter flows out of your insides that cracks your scream and your terror and your fear and your tears and your fears like â€“

* * *

W

W

W

W

H

H

Hh

H

H

I

I

I

T

T

T

T

T

E

E

S

S

S

S

S

Pp

P

P

P

A

A

A

C

Cc

E

E

E

* * *

[destination unreached]

[can't find you]

[lost]

[i don't forgive you]

[don't expect anything less or more]

* * *

_these days you've always left house_

_our house_

_our love has been rusting for a while now_

_it's been getting old_

_has it been getting boring for you?_

_have i not been catering to your needs?_

_do i make you happy?_

_it's always been so boring without you_

_it's always been lonely_

_see our rings?_

_they're a promise_

_our promise_

_i'm sorry i haven't been able to keep that promise_

_in recent times_

_i'm sorry_

_i'm sorry_

_please just come home_

_and stay_

_for a minute_

_or two_

_even a second_

_i want to talk_

_i love you_

* * *

**a/n:** _I wanted to break the mould with these SonAmy tragedies._

_This is a thank you to cornwallace. Without him, my writing probably wouldn't have progressed to this stage. Check him out. He's rad._

_I made some major edits to the first chapter so be sure to read the whole thing again._

_And thank you to all those who've read and reviewed. You guys mean a lot to me._

_**Reviews are cherished.** _


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